


Vale of Tears

by pouralittle



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Legilimens, M/M, Occlumency, POV Multiple, Possible Character Death, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23664397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pouralittle/pseuds/pouralittle
Summary: There is nothing more important, right now, than apprehending Gellert Grindewald. Only, the issue is not so much the man behind the idea, but the idea behind the man.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Credence Barebone/Nagini, Newt Scamander & Theseus Scamander, Queenie Goldstein & Tina Goldstein, Queenie Goldstein/Jacob Kowalski, Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. impotence

**Author's Note:**

> Hi readers, once again I'm biting off more than I can chew as I attempt yet another multi-chap fic. I apologise if I'm less committed than I let on, but I do have some sense of where I'd like the story to go. I'm hoping to try justify and reason the events of Crimes of Grindewald, and then go beyond that for a highly conjectured sequel.
> 
> Warning: Flashbacks are intermittent. And use of multiple P.O.V.

***

(Flashback) Tina’s P.O.V.

Year. 1908.

She is small. 

Queenie, as young as Tina remembers, is huddled in a corner, submerged under sheets, blankets and pillows. It’s a princess’ castle pitched up by a wooden dining chair. A makeshift fort Tina taught her how to build… Tina taught her how to hide in.

“Queenie.”

Tina, 7 years old, watches as Queenie’s 5 year old body slowly unravels into one finally resembling a child. Sprawling onto her little knobby knees, the sleeve of Queenie’s nightdress gets caught beneath the chair’s leg as she sticks her head out. Her flushed face appears in the open, golden curls clumping into knots on the sides of her tear-stained cheeks. Tina smiles.

“Teen?”

“It’s dinner time, Queenie.” Tina tells her dutifully. “Ma says she made your favourite.”

Queenie pulls a face that shows she won’t be easily persuaded, not from this 48 hour strike and counting. Scowling, she inches backwards, retreating into the fort she spent days making.

But the chair abruptly gives way from all the movement. Screech. There’s a soft yelp when the chair buckles on top of the blonde, and Tina immediately jumps to remove it, concerned.

“Queenie?” Tina calls as she attempts to find her younger sister buried beneath all the pillows and blankets. At last, her hands manage to latch onto a tiny human-sized figure which she pulls ardently out of the fort’s ruin. Queenie, pale and trembling, whimpers in her arms.

“Are you okay, Queenie?

“I can’t stop the voices.” The little girl hiccups, crying. Tears stream down her face.

“Yes. Yes you can. Just focus on what I’m saying.”

“It hurts!” She cries out, locking her tiny fists over her ears.

“Come on, Queenie. Don’t do this.” Tina warns, carefully brushing back Queenie’s hair with her fingertips. So very vigilant. “Ma will have to put you to sleep.”

But it’s no use, Queenie arches her back across Tina’s lap and howls, stomping her feet. She screams, wailing at the end of her breaths, expression contorted -- and shrieking until blue in the face.

Hurried footsteps from the kitchen sound off the floor. Ma suddenly enters the bedroom, flustered-looking in her apron and flour-powdered face. She is swift as she swoops down to Queenie, and without apprehension, gathers her up off a disconcerted Tina. Her mother coos at the distressed girl who's seemingly unresponsive.

“Queenie, sweetheart.” Ma calls to her youngest daughter as she cautiously levels the tip of her wand at Queenie’s temple. “Queenie, baby, Ma is here. I’m here.” 

Queenie continues to struggle, tears breaking free from her tightly shut eyes, her breathing ragged and wheezy. 

“Stupefy.” Tina’s mother utters, and Queenie’s body immediately relaxes against the woman’s grasp -- she falls limp, head lolling back and arms flopping at her sides. It’s scary. Nothing like Tina has ever seen before but perhaps in the local newspaper. Ma turns to Tina then, her impartial, blank face an enigma to read. “Get the dinner table ready, pumpkin. I’ll take Queenie to bed. Then I’ll join you.”

Too afraid to protest the implicit strain in her mother's voice, Tina wordlessly picks up the sheets and pillows off the floor and unloads them onto her sister’s bed. She tends to the chair next, attempting to lug it back into the dining room.

Just as Ma is about to leave with Queenie though, Ma stops, turning over her shoulder to regard Tina; this time, there's a wonderfully well-practiced smile worn on her face. “You better have those placemats out. No messes.”

Tina sulks somewhat, disappointed that this will be yet another dinner without the company of her sister. But in a way, she’s glad for it too. That Queenie won’t have to endure any more suffering for the rest of the day. At least she can sleep a little, even if just an hour. Pa had been told a few years ago that the stunning spell can release afflicted individuals of legilimency for several hours. Once awake Queenie might be able to play a little. It's a hopeful thought. One that she clings to without repent.

And holding herself to it, Tina prepares the dinner table diligently, unable to resist putting down a plate and cup for Queenie just in case. She sets out the cutlery next, carefully manoeuvring the napkins underneath them, when in the corner of her eye she notices Ma tucking Queenie inside her parent's king-sized bed. And Tina can almost capture there, in that distance, the untouched innocence of her little sister... The blonde 5-year-old shrinking herself into a fetus position on the mattress. One fisted hand, the size of a brief echo, coming up to rest against her lips. The images jolt Tina. They swathe her in a memory of how Queenie used to suck her thumb in that similar likeness. In that sweeping vulnerability.

But the thumb-sucking habit had been quickly rid by their watchful mother. Much unlike Queenie’s legilimency that hadn't been so easily or rapidly doused. During infancy, Queenie battled with a whole host of issues as a result, that ranged from child insomnia, to acute acid reflux, and to colic which progressed into breath-holding spells. Whilst she eventually outgrew most of these conditions, Queenie still occasionally suffers from disrupted sleep and breath-holding episodes. She’ll often cry and hold her breath till unconscious if allowed to. Fortunately though, these reactions are mostly reserved for the hectic, chaotic nights -- when the voices become overwhelming and relentless, Tina knows.

Intrigued by the worry beginning to spread her mother’s face, Tina creeps toward her parents’ bedroom, tip-toeing on the cold, wooden floorboards and peeking closer in the gap of the ajar door. Ma is perching herself on the edge of the master bed. She plunges her face into her palms and silently shakes, her body casting onto the wall a shadow of a sad figure.

“Ma?” Tina whispers. Her mother reflexively jerks up onto her feet and fusses with the bed’s duvet momentarily. She turns around then, appearing surprised.

“Pumpkin.” Ma says, breathless. “What trouble have you found yourself in now?

Tina steps away from the door as Ma strides toward her, arms spread apart to snatch her up. “None.” Tina assures her mother, feeling herself grow amused at the sight of Ma’s figure looming toward her.

“I’m gonna get you.” Ma alerts, grinning now. Tina bolts for her life -- only minimally conscious of her impotence to change things.

***

(Present Day) Tina’s P.O.V.

Year. 1926.

They stand at opposite sides of the dining table in their shared apartment. Tina glares at her sister, unable to repress the blistering anger bubbling inside of her. Queenie shrugs in response, biting her lip with a force Tina is sure will draw blood.

“You can’t, Queenie. You can’t marry him.” Tina iterates.

“I love him.” Queenie frets, stomping her heels. She waves her wand at the cupboard and draws out a line of plates. It’s strangely frantic, less of grace, less of their usual music as they approach the table.

“I know you do, but you don’t have to marry him.” Tina explains, stopping herself just before the incoming thought, _You don’t have to choose him, Queenie._

Queenie eyebrows shoot upward. “Choose? Choose him?” Her sister shrieks, reading her without inhibition. “It is not a choice, Teen! I love him. Oh, I love him and I can’t help it. Why _can’t_ there be a future? Why --?”

“You will go to jail, Queenie. Or worse.” Going off Queenie’s expression -- “Don’t make me say what will happen because you know.” It’s at this point, Tina feels bad. She can no longer curb the emotions and onrush of thoughts filling her head. She can’t meet her sister halfway. 

Queenie winces. What she saw must have hurt. “They don’t have to find out --”

“What kind of life is living in secret?” Tina points out, guiltily. “You won’t be safe. Jacob knows this. He’s willing to --”

“Stop!” The blonde’s hands begin to shake, the plates wobble mid-air. “You don’t know! You don’t know! How can you know, you love a wizard! I love a No-Maj!” Queenie loses concentration over her levitation spell, and the plates fall, shattering on the ground.

“Queenie.” Tina sees the despair wash over Queenie's face, her expression distorting into something painful, something deep. But Tina can’t stop herself from being plain with her sister. As fragile as Queenie can be, protecting her from the truth has only ever got them so far. “I’m sorry, but we all have to follow the law, it’s just --”

Queenie huffs, speechless. She picks up her ivory case and collects her coat.

“Don’t leave yet! We’re not done. You can’t go on like this -- Queenie-Queenie! I’m trying to save you from heartbreak!” Tina attempts to follow her sister out of the apartment, but halts as Queenie takes out her wand. The blonde disapparates, disappearing into thin air. 

Tina blinks before the front door, peering into the now empty, dark stairway, not able to make sense of it. What had just happened? They hadn’t fought like this in years, maybe never. 

And all Tina is left with suddenly, is this enormous sense of helplessness, of being too weak, too powerless to contest her own righteousness -- that really, though she’ll never admit to it, her sister is right to love. Right to love any man, any person of any condition. She shouldn’t be the authority to tell her sister no. Because she isn’t that. She isn’t Law, she is family.

In this moment, Tina wishes she could bolt, run off another time -- be only minimally aware of her impotence. But she is no longer seven years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think so far? I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


	2. ad nauseam

***

(Present Day) Queenie’s P.O.V.

The night swoops her like a black raven. She feels its heavy figure following her in the shadows as she walks the streets. Queenie can hear the dreams of people, but she can feel their nightmares too; a weight pressed onto her chest, tight and suffocating. But mostly, it’s the insomniacs that catch her unprepared like an unsuspecting evil -- their tiredness and exhaustion filling her with dread and their insurmountable fear perched at windows waiting to pounce.

Queenie moves quickly through the midnight fog until she sees the happy, pink sign of Jacob’s bakery. She crosses the deserted road and unlocks the front door. 

“Lumos.”

The pastries suddenly come to life under the glow of Queenie’s wand. She smiles to herself. Proud, if anything, of Jacob’s remarkable talent. Queenie heads into the back, into the kitchen which is stacked with boxes of recent deliveries. She locates the door that leads into the storage room and opens it. In the far right corner, behind the shelves, is a small sectioned off area with a single bed and photos and recipes taped onto the wall around it. 

“Jacob?”

The bed is made and unoccupied. “ Nox” Queenie sits down, the springs beneath her squeak under her weight. Dropping her case at the foot of the bed and tucking her wand beneath the pillow, Queenie slips beneath the covers. She stares up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep; there’s a small passport-sized photo of herself, laughing. She doesn’t quite recall having the picture ever taken, but it is sweet enough to quiet the outside voices and bring her some hours of rest.

In her dreams, Jacob wraps his arms around her.

…

When she wakes, Queenie finds herself drenched in sweat and feeling nauseous. She immediately snatches up her wand and disapparates.

She arrives back into her shared apartment with Tina, and dashes into the bathroom. Tina, precariously sat on the edge of their sofa, catches sight of her from in the living room. Ostensibly, Tina had been waiting for her all night.

“Queenie?”

Queenie slams the door shut and retches into the toilet. Not much really comes out, but she wants to keep on going, she sees herself not ever really leaving the bathroom at all today.

“Queenie?” The sound of soft knocking on the door. “What happened?”

Tina opens the door, her dark eyes assess the situation in that familiar way, before kneeling herself by her sister’s side. “What did you see? Hmmm?”

Queenie inches away from the toilet and her sister, attempting to fight the tears threatening to expose themselves. But it’s a battle she never wins. A war that's destined.

“I think I dreamed last night. I don’t know, maybe I let some people in.” Tina looks at her, worry pinched between her brows, maturity beyond her years. “I thought Jacob would be enough protection.” Queenie explains. 

Abruptly, her stomach flips inside of her, and the queasiness doesn’t fade, because it’s always been difficult for her to recall what she has experienced during sleep. Often what’s left of it is just an emotion that lingers with her for the rest of the day, sometimes making her sick to her stomach on top of everything else.

Tina places her palm against Queenie’s forehead, pausing for a moment. “You’re a little warm...” She says. “Please stay.” Her change in tone surprises Queenie; it always has. “Take care of yourself, here. I have some business in Paris to tend to, but if you need me, just write me, okay?”

Queenie doesn’t say anything, unsure of how to respond, uncertain if she’s still angry with Tina or not. But her head has seemingly calmed and without chatter, and the world isn't spinning, and she thinks she's no longer that truly broken person people have made her out be.

“I’ll be sending you postcards. Do read them.” Tina puts on a forced smile that with its awkwardness, manages to put a tiny one on Queenie’s face. Loving is forgiveness, her mother had once said.

She jumps at a thought. “Won’t you see Newt first? He’ll probably wonder --” 

“No need.” Tina interrupts, somehow already certain of Queenie’s question. “Newt is engaged.”

“ _Engaged_?” Queenie feels herself pull a face. Since when is Newt Scamander engaged? “Doing what?”

“Whom.” Tina answers, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “It’s all in the newsletter this morning.”

Tina is pulling herself up onto her feet, and dusting off her pants now. She checks her watch, moving on to the next task and -- appearing busy which is almost her default when under stress.

“God, that’s awful.” Queenie sympathises, sensing the heartbreak Tina felt upon finding out. A quiet image floats into her mind, one of Tina tearing up the photos Newt had sent them of his creatures back in England. They are tossed into the fireplace. _Incendio._

“Mmhmm.” Tina approves, nodding her head in agreement as she leaves the bathroom.

***

(Flashback) Queenie’s P.O.V

Year. 1913.

She doesn’t remember her sister ever looking so sad.

In the family room, 12-year-old Tina is collapsed over a photo frame of their parents. Their family four-bedroom-apartment is bereft of furniture, having been sold off or given away to distant relatives who don’t care to raise children no more. And the only thing left seemingly, is them two.

“Teen?” 

Tina sobs. Queenie hears her awful cries as they reverberate through her body. An infinite mourning.

“Teen?” A part of Queenie is afraid to come any closer, that she might feel something she doesn’t want to, that she can’t control. Her greatest fear isn’t necessarily knowing others’ pain, but being consumed by it -- being forced to live it.

Only, Queenie is brave today, inexplicably brave. She creeps toward her sister and lays a hand on her shoulder.

“No!” Tina instantaneously jumps away from Queenie. “Don’t touch me.” There are tears in Tina’s eyes which are red and swollen. “I will hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry --”

Queenie feels herself begin to tear up, overcome by a sudden wave of guilt and shame, brought under by an ocean of bloodied, raw beating fists pounding against her chest; the endless uproar of souls denied passage fills her weight.

“No. No. I’m sorry, I’m supposed to not be like this. I just feel bad. So rotten. And - and angry! Oh Mercy Lewis, I’m angry!” Tina’s expression turns into something resentful. “Why did they leave us? How am I going to hold us together? I can’t -- I don’t know how to help you! What do I do?”

Queenie shuffles up to her sister, and for a second time touches her sister’s shoulder. Tina doesn’t resist -- especially when Queenie gets onto the floor, sitting behind her sister and pulls her into an embrace. They cling to each other and Queenie allows all the emotions and memories to enter her. She accepts the unimaginable, double-fold agony shared between them. The horrible, ugly and heartbreaking rearing their heads at her -- although, it doesn’t stab like it has in the past. Rather, it’s a dull ache, a throbbing beneath her skin that tugs and yanks at her, a pulsing sensation which somehow, she believes, is something she can live with.

“Queenie?” Tina asks, her voice trembling. “Are you okay?”

Not until this point, has Queenie ever been able to comfort her sister. In the past, Tina had always tried to hide her emotions because of her sensitivities. But not now. That would be impossible.

“I’m okay.” There are realms of tears in Queenie’s eyes that she cannot see through them, her chest is so tight that she cannot breathe in and her throat is so taut that it feels as if it’s closing -- yet, she knows she is strong enough. Queenie is strong enough. 

“We’re going to be okay.” Queenie says, nestling her head in Tina’s mousy brown, unbrushed hair. Her body shakes with the grief it encounters. The midnight rendezvous. Hide and seek in the bedroom. Parents dancing them in their adult arms.

Tina sobs again. “I love you.” Queenie doesn’t know if it’s meant for their parents or her, but she feels warm amidst the emotioned chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, more characters and plot points will make an appearance. I'm just easing into this...


	3. discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She then turns to Jacob, finally giving him what he seeks. Just her. Just her attention. Her heart. Her future.  
> 
> 
> She touches him on his chest, her painted fingernails red. Red with love, he thinks. Red of that intoxicating, dizzying craziness he exists for. "

***

(Present Day) Jacob’s P.O.V.

Year. 1926. Christmas.

They’re in the storage room of Jacob’s bakery. Queenie pushes Jacob up against the rear wall, and the subway tiles press firm into his back as if to remind him again, he’s not powerful, not like she is. 

He looks at her startled, noticing her cheeks are flushed and her green eyes are that wide pool of panicked intensity, that wide-reaching devastation. Something isn’t right.

“We have to hurry.” She whispers, steadying herself against him. He grips onto her elbow, worried for a moment of her state, but before Jacob can say anything back, Queenie is slipping out her wand. 

“Hey. Hey.” Jacob protests, holding her softly away with his palms. 

“No. No. You don’t understand.” Queenie explains, she fists her left hand around the collar of his elf costume; the bells on his onesie jingle as she attempts to bring him closer toward her. He stumbles forward. And her face is inches from his, her nose is just hovering there, her eyes fluttering rapidly and he allows the kiss that he knows is coming. The yearning he’s always feeling when she’s not around, when she’s busy scoping out safehouses for them to meet in. Her lips come onto his then, and he believes, despite how nonsensical it seems, that he can sense her rummaging in his head in tandem. Her clatter as she fumbles in his mind; that noise he loves so much. That loud spirit that she is.

When she pulls away, he cups her face in his palms, hoping to catch her attention properly for once, to get her to talk. If Queenie is anything, she is rash.

“Queenie, I’m not like you. I don’t read minds. What’s going on, baby? Hmm? Tell me. We have time.”

“No, we don’t. I think they found out.” She gently removes his hands from her face, her eyebrows pulling together. Golden ringlets bobbing as she spins her head around to search the room.

“They did? They know?” Jacob curses to himself, rubbing his hand anxiously against his forehead. He’s sweating, already. We need to get help, we need protection. “We have to find your sister.” He tells her.

But Queenie’s expression changes into something dark, less hopeful. More grim. “Abernathy’s here.” She blurts out, suddenly much paler in colour than she had been.

“What-” 

Queenie lifts her wand, and he knows a spell is being cast before he can question her any further.

There’s a flash of hot pink and abruptly the world falls under a veil of pinkish glitter and red hearts. An abundance of red pulsing hearts. And at the centre of it, his supposed universe, is Queenie Goldstein. Like a switch has suddenly been flicked, crazy is all that he begins to feel over everything else. As though, it’s all that love can really be.

…

The next moment, the storage room door swings open. And a tall young man sweeps toward them, his leather coat fluttering behind him like a cape, like some vigilante of the night -- the kind that used to excite Jacob. The man stops before them, eyebrows raising at what he sees. Abernathy. A-Ab-bernathy. Jacob recognises.

“Ms Goldstein.” Abernathy notes, derisive. Queenie is slowly inching away from Jacob, her back not quite turned away from him. She looks properly afraid, not like anything Jacob’s seen before of her. 

“And how do you do?” Jacob squeaks, thinking about politeness and manners of all things. He wants this exchange nice, light even, although he’s not entirely certain of why.

Queenie grimaces. When she talks, Jacob is sure her voice jumps several octaves and her lips quiver. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Abernathy. Really. It’s just -- well it’s so strange to see you here. You never struck me as a man in the pursuit of good pastry.”

The guy, charming even to Jacob, puts on an unreadable smile, shaking his moss of black hair. “No, just the pursuit of good justice.”

The smile Queenie is feigning, falls. Jacob giggles at Abernathy.

“I’ve heard some quaint rumours recently.” The man casts a cursory glance at the blonde, some black-hearted act of pity. “And I know how much you love cooking and baking. And that, it just so happens, that Mr Kowalski -”

“Jacob.” Jacob interrupts, helpless to any impulse and urge to make quick acquaintance. He just wants in.

“Is an excellent baker.” Abernathy finishes, examining him dubiously for a moment, then cocks his head to the right. “Are you alright, Mr Kowalski? Did something happen to you?”

“Magic!” Jacob exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. And it’s as if he had just said the most taboo word one could ever think of, because Abernathy’s wand instantaneously appears at his fingertips and Queenie is leaping in front of Jacob -- her arms and body shielding him. “Oh.” Jacob remarks.

Abernathy aims the tip of his wand at her, undeterred. “Queenie, you must know that relationships with No-Majs are strictly forbidden. I’m going to have to obliviate him and take you in.”

“We’re not in a relationship, Mr Abernathy.” Queenie informs him, biting her lip. Her chest heaves up and down with the pronounced lie.

Jacob is offended, he feels a beating onrush of envy course his veins. “Yes we are.” He insists.

But Queenie is immovably focused on her mission and ignores Jacob’s proclamation. “I’ve enchanted him.” Her eyes are a heavy green now; the shade of forests haunted. “You know how it is, Mr Abernathy.”

The tall man looks at her, surprised for a brief second, before a moustache-twirling smile burgeons about his lips. “Indeed.” He says then, stepping close to Queenie and fondly brushing the lint off her coat. She stiffens, which seems to do nothing but power Abernathy’s interest. “Well, you never need be so desperate. I’d happily take your company a second time, since I rather enjoyed our last encounter.”

Jacob can see her bristle at this, unravel a little at the edges which she has visibly worked so hard to keep reigned inward. “I’ll think on it, Mr Abernathy. Thank you.”

Concerned, Jacob takes Queenie’s hand in his amidst the break in conversation, and wanders his nose up to her anxious face.“I love you.” He says, smelling into her neck, inhaling her lavender perfume. He’s smitten. So smitten. Already having forgiven her for her undue rejection towards him earlier.“Let’s get married. I think we should get married.”

Abernathy lowers his wand to the ground, and regards Queenie with a grin. The evil kind. “Then you better not stay here long. I can only keep denying what I know is still illegal for so long. Consider us even.”

Queenie nods her head, the sides of her eyes twinging with a remarkable look of pain. But it’s momentary, ephemeral, a quick flash in the dark.

She then turns to Jacob, finally giving him what he seeks. Just her. Just her attention. Her heart. Her future.

She touches him on his chest, her painted fingernails red. Red with love, he thinks. Red of that intoxicating, dizzying craziness he exists for. 

The next thing he knows, they’ve disappeared and Abernathy is a vague memory.

…

Whip. The sky is a dark curtain. It is night, a pitch-black on the shoulder of dawn. Jacob stares up at it, surprised, he’s never seen it that colour before. He’s never seen night like that.

“Come on, honey. Should we go inside? Maybe cook a Christmas dinner?”

“Food?” Jacob perks, shifting his gaze to his lover, noticing as if the first time again, the sweetest of smiles. Her Christmas smile, he once called it. “Let’s go.” He says, and he allows Queenie to drag him into her shared apartment with Tina. 

He’ll probably never admit to it, but sometimes, he enjoys this, being led, pushed and prodded by Queenie. It’s something he never had; someone to fuss over him, someone to love him when in a war. A battle with himself. That struggle to want what he’ll never agree to have. 

…

They finally make it to the apartment unseen. He plops down on the girls’ sofa, briefly comforted by the familiar squeak it makes when pressed under his weight. At least he’s still real, solid. Not invisible, like he sometimes feels, as though a harmless phantom coming and going, leaving no trace. 

Clink. There’s a sound that echoes from the kitchen. And before he knows to look, Queenie is in front of him again, wand raised to the darkness, to the snuffed out lights beyond them. 

A shadowed figure arrives, still indistinguishable, at the sliding doors that partition the dining room. Queenie flicks her wrist. A strike of green zaps out toward the supposed intruder and there’s an abrupt shout that comes back to them immediately. “Protego.”

Whatever spell Queenie casted is deflected and ricochets past them, barely nicking Queenie’s arm on its way out. It fizzles on the gashed wallpaper where it hit. 

“Queenie?” 

Tina steps out of the shadows. Queenie drops her wand, seemingly mid-cast, and studies her sister, confused. “I didn’t sense --”

“I was using occlumency. I’m supposed to be undercover.” Tina discloses. “I took a potion to magnify the spell.” She walks up to the blonde, pulling Queenie close to examine the injured arm. “ I’m not normally this good at it.”

Queenie jerks away. “I’m fine.” She hides her arm behind her back and peers at Tina for a long time. Jacob realises, she must be attempting to read the auror. But alas, nothing concrete comes of it because - “How come you’re here?” Queenie asks.

“It’s Christmas, Queenie.” Tina replies gently. Her salamander eyes, the ones Newt coined so fondly, eventually wander to Jacob. They set on him like a lion to its prey. “What’s he doing here? He can’t be here.” 

Jacob feels unfairly targeted. Queenie shrugs her shoulders, looking ashamedly at the floor.“I know... but we were caught.”

Tina’s eyes widen then, to the size of saucers.

“I’m not sure about everyone else,” Queenie continues, sounding increasingly upset. “but Abernathy -- he knows.”

“Were you being careful?” 

The jab of Tina’s accusation resonates with Jacob enough to spur him into action. He jumps up off the sofa and lumbers towards the sisters. “Now, now.” He says, feeling the unusual need to mediate their tense interaction. “This is no way to talk to one another. We all love each other, hmm? You love Queenie. Queenie loves - Queenie loves me. I love Queenie. I love her so very much. Yes, I do -” 

Tina’s voice becomes as taut as a stretched rope. “You enchanted him?”

Jacob notices Queenie’s hands shake as she steps forward. “I had to. Abernathy suspected we were in a relationship. He was going to --”

“And you should have let him. It’d be safer to obliviate --”

“He was going to arrest me, Tina. And I couldn’t allow it to happen to Jacob again.” Queenie’s voice breaks. “He deserves to know just as much as anyone else does.”

“But you should never have been with him in the first place. Not somewhere where they can find you, Queenie. Enchanting him -” Tina starts again.

“Don’t think I don’t know.” Tears spring to Queenie’s eyes, welling there, and trickling down her cheeks. Like a slow waterfall in drought. “Don’t think I don’t know what that means.”

Tina backs down after that, ostensibly sitting on her fury for a while, pondering the emotions. After a moment of pause - “Well, you’re going to have to lift the enchantment sometime.”

“I’m going to take him to see Newt in London... It’ll be safer there.” Queenie says eventually. She turns to Jacob then, a face seeking comfort, becoming fraught with panic upon seeing him. Jacob snakes his arm around her back knowingly, holding her at the waist, and with his free hand, he cradles the back of her head when it buries down into his shoulder. 

A loud sigh escapes Tina; her arms fold against her abdomen. Jacob has never seen this side of the brunette. This unleashed protectiveness.

“I don’t have the time to be helping you right now. But go to Newt. It’ll be safer for the both of you.” Tina tells her sister.

Queenie hesitantly detaches herself from Jacob who whimpers at the loss of contact. “Teen?” Queenie murmurs. “Is it Credence?”

But Tina has left the couple in the dining room and strides into the kitchen, turning on the lights with a wave of her wand. Queenie observes her, a sad expression befalling her pretty, pretty face. But she doesn’t engage with Tina, instead she interlocks her fingers with Jacob’s. And he feels himself being tugged yet again -- their world coming out of focus as a new world comes in. 

…

They arrive at London’s underground subway station. 

Jacob smiles at Queenie, smugly browsing her outline drawn against the dim glow of a gastlit lamp. She’s beautiful.

“Are we at Newt’s?” He asks.

“We’ll be there soon. I just have to find...” Queenie trails off, her attention slowly wandering somewhere beyond him, the subway and earth itself, Jacob recognises... It’s the kind of lost that sits between dimensions of time and space. 

“Ok,” Jacob snatches up Queenie’s fingers in his, pulling them toward the buttons of his onesie. He imagines her stripping him naked, finally seeing his truth laid out bare. “But can we play first?”

Queenie immediately pulls away, alarm overcoming her delicate features. “No. No.” She says. “We can’t do that. Not when you’re like this.” She takes off her faux fur coat, and wraps it around his shoulders. It’s small, tight, and he thinks the fabric is tearing. 

“Can we get married?” Jacob asks her, still entranced by the notion of a consummation. Queenie glances at him, this time with more kindness, more warmth.

“No.” She softly answers, “We have to see Newt first.”

Jacob sulks. 

Queenie bites her lip. “But.. but maybe we could just, you know, pretend that we’re engaged to be married for a couple days.”

He squeals in delight. Yes. It’s all that he wants. Almost as if, to be at last free -- as though all inhibitions and fears have been lifted, gently taken away from him, in a haze of mist.

  
“But no touching, kissing, or any of that funny business.” Queenie hovers her arm around his back, and then her hand touches him, light at his side (which is hard -- hard for her, he knows)

And Jacob would never disobey that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt's P.O.V next, I think.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know that this isn't completely deplorable. What do you think?


End file.
